


On His Knees

by Aneiria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Dominance, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Post-War, Power Dynamics, Secret Relationship, Seduction, Shameless Smut, Smut, commanding Narcissa, frustrated Theo, theocissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneiria/pseuds/Aneiria
Summary: ‘I’ve told you before, Theodore,’ I say. ‘You simply must call me Narcissa.’His sapphire eyes flash as if he is amused. ‘Narcissa,’ he relents, his voice low and sensual, my name on his tongue a wondrous thing to hear. I carefully close my mind to his wiles.I have long thought that if any of the trickster gods of old decided to walk the earth, they would do so looking out of Theodore Nott’s beguiling blue eyes.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Theodore Nott
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	On His Knees

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who've read my work before, you'll quickly realise this is a very different tone and style to usual! I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> CW: this fic depicts a relationship with an age difference. Theo is about 18 or 19 and Narcissa (depending on your headcanons) anywhere from late 30s to late 40s.

So much has changed in a year, I think to myself as I wait at King’s Cross station, the heat from the early summer sunshine still lingering as the Hogwarts Express finally chugs slowly into the station.

I can feel them, the eyes upon me. Some hostile, some pitying, all rudely giving in to their unconcealed curiosity. I stand even straighter, and wait patiently. They know my good-for-nothing husband is in Azkaban, awaiting the Dementor’s Kiss for his war crimes. They also know I lied to the Dark Lord himself, giving Harry Potter, everyone’s favourite saviour, the chance to smite him down and bring the insidious war to an end.

I hear the speculation, the whispers that are just a bit too loud, every time I leave the Manor. They ponder my motivation, these simpletons, wonder whether I had Muggle sympathies all along.

Any mother would know exactly why I did what I did.

I catch a glimpse of familiar hair, white-blond and perfect. My son. Everything I did, I did for him.

I only wish I could have done more, sooner.

He catches my eye and a small smile graces his lips. He weaves through the crowds of students and families reuniting after the school year ends, and when he reaches me, drops his travelling trunk to the floor.

‘Mother,’ he greets me, stiffly, but as I pull him into a long-awaited embrace, he melts into my arms.

‘My darling,’ I murmur against his hair, as soft now as it had been as a baby. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Missed you too,’ he whispers, as if sharing a secret. We pull apart, and I take a good look at him.

He looks well enough. A little sad, wistful almost, with violet smudges beneath his eyes that indicate a run of bad nights. I wonder if he still has his nightmares, and wonder if he’d ever admit them to me. His grey eyes, so like his damnable father’s, sparkle happily, however, and it eases my heart.

Perhaps my son has found some peace at last.

‘Mrs Malfoy.’

This voice belongs to a boy I’ve known almost as long as my son, and I turn to Draco’s best friend with an affectionate smile.

Theodore Nott takes my hand gently, kissing my knuckles like the well-brought-up Pureblood he is. His eyes, as rich and deep as the most expensive sapphires in my personal vault, hold that same mixture of arrogance and adoration that I’ve never been able to resist. ‘How lovely to see you here.’

‘Theodore,’ I greet him, pulling my hand back when he releases it. The spot his lips brushed burns like Fiendfyre. ‘Won’t you join us? Mopsy has prepared a wonderful welcome home supper.’

Theodore’s eyes flicker to Draco’s, but I know my son will do the right thing.

Theodore’s mother died while giving him life, and his father, the old miser, died in his cell in Azkaban barely a month after the Battle of Hogwarts. The boy has nothing to return to but a cold, empty manor house.

Draco nods at him, and Theodore smiles at me. ‘I’d love to. Thank you, Mrs Malfoy.’

The three of us turn to leave the station, and I notice Draco’s lingering glance over his shoulder, watching something I cannot quite see.

‘I’ve told you before, Theodore,’ I say instead, giving my son his privacy. ‘You simply must call me Narcissa.’

His sapphire eyes flash as if he is amused. ‘Narcissa,’ he relents, his voice low and sensual, my name on his tongue a wondrous thing to hear. I carefully close my mind to his wiles.

I have long thought that if any of the trickster gods of old decided to walk the earth, they would do so looking out of Theodore Nott’s beguiling blue eyes.

* * *

Theodore stays after supper, in the end. He and Draco seem in good spirits, and I stay mainly silent, watching them as they eat and drink and laugh and reminisce over the year they’ve just completed. Their exams are finished, and now a long summer of freedom before they fully enter the world as adult wizards.

I catch Theodore’s lingering glance on me as I finish my glass of red wine - smoky and rich, one of the best vintages the Malfoy vineyards has to offer - and without asking he wandlessly summons the empty crystal glass to his own fingers, refilling it before levitating it back to me.

An unnecessary use of magic, but skilfully executed. I raise an eyebrow and look away as if unimpressed, but as I bring the glass to my lips I fancy I can still feel the residual heat from Theodore’s fingers beneath my own. I know he watches as I swallow, as I lick a drop of wine from my lip.

Oblivious to this little game, Draco clears his throat and pushes his chair back. ‘Thank you for supper, mother,’ he says graciously, as Theodore gets to his feet next to him. ‘Would it be all right for Theo to stay the night?’

My eyes slide to Theodore, who is watching me with far too much cunning in those blue eyes of his. I incline my head infinitesimally. ‘Of course.’

'Thank you, mother.’ Draco walks around the table to brush a tender kiss to my cheek.

‘Sleep well, darling,’ I say, and his eyes are soft as he smiles. I look up to Theodore. ‘Mopsy will make up any guest room you like, Theodore. Just let her know which, and have a pleasant night’s sleep.’

Draco has already started to walk off, his back to us and his mind clearly elsewhere, and Theodore gives me a charming little bow, never taking his eyes from mine.

‘Sweet dreams, Narcissa,’ he says before turning away, and my name on his tongue sends a thrill through me once again.

* * *

I shouldn’t be surprised when I find him at my door later that evening.

It isn’t the first time, after all.

He’s wearing a pair of Draco’s pyjama bottoms, emerald green and silver stripes, his chest bare and glowing golden in the candlelight.

I pull my own silk dressing gown closer around my body, knowing full well the rich royal purple flatters my skin tone immensely. I wonder if he knows I am naked beneath it.

‘Narcissa,’ Theodore drawls in that sexy voice of his. His body is beautiful, boyishly long and lanky but on the cusp of manhood, with the promise of broadness and muscles to come.

I turn from my door and walk back across my bedroom, but I have left the door open and Theodore follows me in. He closes my door quietly behind him as I sink down onto my chaise.

‘Why are you here, Theodore?’ I ask coolly, but his grin only widens.

He knows the game we’re playing.

‘You know why I’m here, Narcissa,’ he replies, but I am not swayed.

I arch my eyebrow at him. My mother, Hecate rest her soul, taught all of her daughters the art of the eyebrow raise almost before we could walk.

It works on him, of course.

‘I’m here to worship at the only altar worthy of it,’ he replies silkily, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.

‘Theodore,’ I chide instead with pointed disgrace, ‘that’s _blasphemy_.’

He smiles that indolent smile as he steps forward, his bare feet silent on the thick carpet. He sinks to his knees before me, a devout supplicant. ‘Then watch how eagerly I sin,’ he whispers, his sapphire eyes never leaving mine, as he places his sacrilegious hands on my thighs and parts my legs.

From the first swipe of his tongue over my cunt, my eyes flutter closed as a rush of pleasure floods my body.

Theodore has a clever tongue, in all manner of the meaning.

And after all, he is well practised at this. At _me_.

It was never my intention, to seduce one of my son’s friends, but Theodore had been patient and tenacious and so deliciously undeterred. Like a masochist, the crueller I am to him, the more he crawls towards me.

And the more he has to crawl, the harder he works when he is finally between my legs.

He pushes my thighs further apart and I lean back on the chaise, letting the silken pillows support me as I let Theodore worship me in the way he wants.

He focuses now on my clit, his tongue hard and hot as he licks at me. I know his eyes will be trained on mine: he always watches me as he tastes me, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single flutter of my eyelashes or parting of my lips.

Or maybe he’s watching to see if his name silently drifts from my lips as he worships me.

He pushes one of my legs up just enough to be able to press his tongue a little harder against me, and I can’t help the gasp or the way my hips jerk of their accord up against his mouth.

His hands tighten on my thighs and his tongue is so delicious, so perfect, against me. I let my mind go blank, let the fire chase through my veins and my orgasm wash over me and flow into Theodore’s mouth.

I finally open my eyes, reborn in bliss, and find Theodore on his knees still, his blue eyes desperate as he looks at me. He shifts silently and I see the outline of his cock through his pyjama bottoms, straining and eager.

Every time before now, this has been the moment I banish him back to the guest room. I usually fall asleep easily, warm with the certainty that in his lonely bed, Theodore Nott is wanking furiously to the thought of the taste of me.

Tonight, however, I am a benevolent goddess.

‘Do you need absolution?’ I murmur, and his eyes light up as he nods.

I reach for my wand - I have a new one, elm and unicorn hair, eleven inches, supple and elegant - and cast a clever little charm to vanish Theodore’s clothes and have them reappear neatly folded at the foot of the chaise I am still lying on.

He is beautiful.

Bronze skin, broad shoulders, nicely muscled thighs and stomach and arms. He doesn’t play Quidditch like my son, I know, but I also know Nott Manor has a stable full of thoroughbred Abraxans. Draco tells me Theodore exercises them all himself. Years of riding have blessed him with the physique of a young, strong god. 

A god on his knees before me.

I let my eyes linger only briefly on his glorious cock - no need to feed his ego - but I am not disappointed. As beautiful as the rest of him, a darker bronze, a flushed head, a pearly drop of liquid leaking from him.

I pull myself up to a seated position, crossing my legs demurely over the side of the chaise. Theodore dutifully groans in disappointment as my cunt is obscured from his view, and the sound makes me smile.

I lean forward, reaching out to brush my fingertips against of lock of his gloriously thick hair, and Theodore leans into my touch like a kneazle. ‘Touch yourself,’ I whisper, and he opens wide his anguished blue eyes. 

‘Narcissa,’ he says, a delicious curl of desperation in his voice. Briefly I wonder how much I could get him to beg me. ‘Please. Please let me-’

‘No,’ I say sharply before he can finish. He falls silent with a whimper, his cock jerking slightly. My eye is drawn to it, and my mouth waters as I wonder how it would taste if I were to lick him, from base to tip. I look back at his eyes, dark and watchful. ‘Touch yourself,’ I say again, using the same tone I did on my child when he was young and misbehaving.

Theodore finally does as he’s told, carefully wrapping his hand around his cock. He doesn’t break eye contact with me as he starts to slowly work himself up and down, and I am forced to look away first so I can watch him.

It’s a concession I’m more than willing to give, if my prize is the glorious sight unfolding before me in the glow of the candlelight.

Theodore has clearly practiced this. He grips himself like a lover would, biting his lower lip to stop himself from groaning as he thrusts his fist up and down his cock. A pearly drop leaks from the slit, and he swipes his thumb over it, gathering it beneath his touch and massaging it into the head of him. He is being careful, trying to make this last as long as possible.

He still thinks he has control here.

The thought makes me smile wickedly, and I lie back against the sumptuous cushions.

‘Faster,’ I command, my voice low and sure.

Theodore groans, and finally his sapphire eyes flutter shut. His thighs are tight, the lean muscles flexing beneath his skin, and his stomach tenses as he obeys my words. His hand starts to move faster, my room filled with the wet sounds of him wanking.

‘Narcissa,’ he pleads again, although I do believe he’s too far gone to know what he’s begging for.

‘Why don’t you let me see you come, Theodore?’ I say to him, and his eyes fly open again.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he mutters, helplessly, and I find the indecorum of his language sends a thrill through me. I idly wonder what filthy words would fall senselessly from his lips if I let him do as he so desires with me. There is no time to linger on my thoughts, however.

With a stilted cry, Theodore comes in his hand, thick ropes of white shooting upwards and painting his chest. He leans his head back, his eyes closing again, as his cock pulses weakly and the final spurts of come hit his stomach. There are a few beads of sweat on his forehead and his chest, glistening in the candlelight, and every muscle on his body is tensed.

He has never looked so beautiful.


End file.
